


Chills and a Chance of Chocolate

by Kanexan



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Chara Is Noncorporeal, Chara Possessing Frisk (Undertale), Fluff, For Both Routes, Frisk and Flowey Live With Toriel, Gen, Light Angst, POV Flowey... kinda., Undertale Spoilers, floweypot au, platonic valentine's day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-07 19:03:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18879328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kanexan/pseuds/Kanexan
Summary: On a cold night in the middle of February, Flowey finds he's not the only one having trouble getting to sleep...





	Chills and a Chance of Chocolate

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written for a Valentine's Day contest on a Discord server. Now I'm posting it very, very late on Ao3, so just... kinda imagine it's next February?
> 
> Also, thanks so much to https://twitter.com/melonfellow for going above and beyond on giving some extremely helpful feedback; it helped improve this a lot!

Moonlight streamed through the window, highlighting with a hazy glow the small kitchen table and a smaller potted plant on top of it, which had seemingly drawn up and covered itself with the red-and-white checkered tablecloth.

 

Flowey shivered. It was _cold_ on the Surface—colder than he’d ever been, even in Snowdin—and no matter how tightly his leaves clutched the tablecloth wrapped around him, the flower simply couldn’t seem to get warm. Was it that he was no longer in the ground? He remembered reading a long time ago that the ground held warmth; maybe he just couldn’t feel it anymore now that he was suffering the indignity of a planter? Or maybe the Surface was just chillier than the Underground had been.

 

He still didn’t understand, though.

 

Why was he here? After everything that'd happened, after everything he'd done...

Why didn’t Frisk kill him the first time?

Why did Frisk _save_ him the second time?

Why did Frisk come back to him a third time, after everything had been finished and he'd resolved to living all alone in the Underground, and… and ask him to go _back up_ with them?

It didn’t make _sense._

Flowey wasn’t sure it ever would, either. He’d thought it made sense again, after the second time—after he'd been  _him_ again, even if it was only for a little bit—but then, as time went on he realized... it didn’t. It had started growing odd, first slowly and slightly, but then faster and faster. He’d wanted so badly to keep the memory in, to remember what it was like to _understand_ , but…

The tablecloth tensed as he pulled it a little tighter around himself. It didn’t make Flowey warmer, but just having it around him seemed to make him feel better. He would ask for an actual blanket tomorrow, or a hot water bottle or something, but for tonight the flower had to make do with what he had.

Just as he was settling in to try and get to sleep despite the cold, he heard a loud creak come from the living room staircase; apparently, he wasn’t the only one up this late. The footsteps creaked all the way down the stairs—not as loudly as usual; whoever it was seemed to be making an attempt to be stealthy—and quietly towards the kitchen.

Frisk came around the corner of the doorframe, wearing an oversized t-shirt and plaid pajama pants. They moved slowly and looked around their surroundings quickly, as if they didn’t want anyone to see them up. Well, Flowey knew from several rather loud discussions between them and Mo… Toriel that their bedtime was 8:30; it made sense that Frisk was practically dancing on eggshells trying to avoid the goat-matron's wrath. Flowey wasn’t sure exactly what time it was, but it was _definitely_ after midnight.

 

“What are you doing?” Flowey asked curiously.

Frisk jumped,startled to hear him speak. “Oh! Um, I just… just needed a drink, that’s all. I forgot you were there, Flowey. You’re still up?”

“Yeah. Too cold to get to sleep down here, not that _you’d_ care…” Flowey grumbled.

Frisk pulled up a stool to the table and sat. “I, uh… I couldn’t sleep either. Insomnia, maybe. I thought maybe coming down here would help.”

“Well, if you expect me to sing you a nice little lullaby, then you’re dumber than I thought.” he snapped, face taking a darker turn. Frisk flinched at the words, but neither left nor chastised him.

“It’s… no, it’s not that. I just thought maybe I could talk with you for a bit, Asr… Flowey.”

They were  about to say _that_ name, Flowey knew. “Oh, you _do,_ huh?” he fumed. “Well, maybe I _don’t._ Maybe I just want to get to sleep, but I can’t because it’s cold and there’s someone here that’s _wasting my time!”_

“I’m sorry, Flowey, I just…” Frisk said, pausing. Their voice was softer than normal, and they kept looking around the room with unusually-wide eyes. It was probably just to see in the dark better, Flowey figured, but it was still odd—almost unnerving!—seeing Frisk's eyes for once. “I just had to talk to y... well, to someone, anyways.”

“Well, I’m up, and I’m someone, so cut the _bullshit_ and get on with it, alright?” He snapped, intentionally using a bad word to get on Frisk’s nerves. Maybe if he irritated them enough, they’d leave him alone.

Curiously, they didn’t react; Frisk just kept on talking in that hushed tone.

“Tomorrow—today, I guess by now—it’s a holiday. Folks spend time with the folks they love, whether that’s partners, parents, family, and they get nice things, like chocolate hearts, and chocolate sweets, and… well, it’s just a lot of chocolate, mostly. It’s my fav… that’s one of my favorite parts.”

“What, do you love me? Do you want me to be your _Valentine?”_ Flowey sneered. “Think that I’ll be all _sweet_ for a couple of sweets? Well, tough luck, buddy; I don’t care much for chocolates.”

“No, no, not like… not like that. It’s just… you’re part of my family, kinda. And… and you’re the only one who _understands._ You’re the only one who _knows._ ” Frisk said.

They were acting decidedly odd, Flowey decided. He still decidedly wasn’t used to their eyes being open, for one thing, but even beyond that, they seemed wary, halting, like they had something they desperately wanted to say but didn’t dare say it.

“I’m not asking you to be my Valentine. I just… I wanted to get your advice on something, okay?”

Flowey sighed, then said “I guess. Shoot already, then.”

“There’s… there’s someone I love, a bunch really. Maybe more than anyone else.” Frisk paused, choking up a bit. “They were… family, pretty much. But something I did… hurt them, and it changed them. It was my fault, but I don’t know how to apologize for it. And I don’t think I can fix it, either.”

“You? Hurt people?” Flowey said, mockingly. “I can’t believe it. Well, okay, there was that _one_ time you did, but you wimped out before you even got to the _fun_ parts.”

Frisk’s eyes flashed, and for a second they looked almost frantic; their eyes were wide as saucers as they involuntarily gripped the tablecloth, and under their breath Flowey almost fancied he heard them say “Once?”

“What, did I strike a _nerve?_ Don’t like to think about _that_ run, do ya?”

Frisk slowly let the tablecloth go.

“No. I don’t. There’s a lot of stuff I don’t like to think about, Flowey. More than you’d know.”

 

The stool made a subdued scraping sound as Frisk scooted it back. “I guess maybe it’s not time to bring it up yet with… with the person. Sorry for keeping you up so late, Flowey. I’ll let you get to sleep now.”

Frisk got up, and walked slowly out of the kitchen. Flowey heard the quiet creaks of the staircase again, and settled back down with the tablecloth to bear out the rest of the cold night.

 

As he started to nod off, he realized Frisk never did get that glass of water.

  


Some time later—he wasn’t sure exactly how long, but it was still dark out—Flowey was stirred from his slumber when he felt something being placed around him.

Something big, and heavy, and warm.  
Groggily, he opened his eyes the tiniest amount to find Frisk wrapping him in an old sweater. One of the raggedy old green-and-cream ones that Toriel must’ve kept around for the memories.

Frisk didn’t realize he had awaken, and started to walk away as soon as they’d covered the flower in the warm wool sweater.

As Flowey watched, still half-asleep, they paused halfway to the kitchen door and turned back slightly. Their eyes were still open, and they had a sad sort of smile on their face.

“Goodnight, Azzie.”

Before Flowey could respond, they were gone and the stairs were creaking again.

 

He just… he just couldn’t _understand_ them.

But it was too late to ask.

Flowey settled in for the rest of the long, cold night.

 

In the morning…

...well, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to talk some more to them.

 

The chocolate would…

_Yawn_ …

...be nice, maybe.

 

It would be kinda like old times, he thought.

Like old friends, even.

 

And then, for the last time that night, Flowey finally went to sleep.


End file.
